Following
by Nymbis
Summary: Over time, Tymmie and Cassandra both realize it isn't always about being the second choice. Tymmie x Cassandra. Finished.
1. To Seek to Overtake

**Following**

_Summary_: He didn't understand why she was so angry with him, or the darkened look that had entered her eyes. It was just a simple question. "Cassandra, I only asked if you wanted to dance with me."

**AN: **Takes place before the series, a few months after Cassandra is first crossed over. My favorite DOTM pairing :dances: This is actually **not **a oneshot (gasp!) but is still going to be rather short. It's more like a few, most likely unrelated, glances into character relations. I will update every week on this one! w00t and whathaveyou.

This is like a drabble-series, so I once again emphasize that it's going to be short.

_Follow (v): _

_To seek to overtake_

_To conform to_

_To watch or observe closely_

_To accompany_

_To go or come after_

_To understand the meaning of_

_**Chapter One**_

_Follow (v.): To seek to overtake_

The party was quickly escalating out of control, the girl thought frantically as she scrambled to clean up the empty plastic cups that had been littered all over her parents' clean, white carpet and prayed that the brownish stains on the floor weren't what she thought they were. The music, a strange techno track she had never heard before, was getting increasingly louder and she felt a panic attack threatening to overtake her as two football players from her school decided to practice using her mother's antique vase. An innocent get-together of friends had taken a miserable turn for the worse, and she knew that when her parents returned home, she was dead.

Prying the antique vase out of the all-star quarterback's hands, Cassandra blew a strand of wayward hair out of her face when she finally had it safe. Tucking a strand of maroon behind her ear, her eyes drifted across the crowd until they landed on a stranger on the opposite side of the room.

He wasn't breathtakingly handsome, his numerous facial piercings, two-toned hair, and pallid skin attributing to this, but he was sort of attractive in a dangerous way. His eyes, dark and cold, stared straight ahead, locking with her own. She blushed immediately when she realized that she had been caught staring, and settled for an awkward smile, hoping he would ignore her and go on with the party.

The boy in black gave her a crooked, but endearing, sort of grin that didn't quite reach his eyes and Cassandra bit back a laugh as she concluded that he looked like a scarecrow of some sorts. She started to turn around to place the vase in the relative security of the kitchen, but as soon as she swerved completely around, the priceless artifact dropped to the ground, as well as her jaw, with a soft thunk! noise on the carpet.

There, standing not a foot away from her, was the must-be equivalent of a god. His hair, a paler shade of blonde, hung slightly in his vibrant blue eyes. His face was chiseled like a marble statue, and he exuded an air of danger even stronger than that of the two-toned hair boy, who was now long forgotten. Her blush grew far more deeper when the handsome stranger bent down to pick up the vase, handing it to her gently.

"Thanks," She whispered meekly, picking it up carefully, praying to god that her hand would brush against his if only for a moment.

"It was no problem," His voice was smooth and enchanting, and he smiled at her, revealing perfectly white and even teeth, "My name's Stanton, what's yours?"

It was the beginning of the end.


	2. To Conform To

_Chapter Two_

_Follow (v.): To conform to_

_Two days later._

When he answered the door, he wasn't surprised to see her there. He had remembered her from the party. Dripping and soaking from the pouring rain, clutching frantically at an old carpetbag. Her maroon hair was plastered to her face, there were cut marks up and down her arms, fresh ones. There was a dead and icy look to her eyes now, he felt colder just looking at her.

"Yeah?" He asked, even though he already knew what she was going to ask.

"Is this where Stanton lives?" Her voice shook, trembled even. The slightest nudge could easily send her over the edge and turn her volatile.

Silence was her response and he silently wondered what the best course of action would be. She was a girl; that was the obvious thing, the only ones who lived here were himself, Karyl, and Stanton. She would be an outsider to their ways. She was inexperienced, that was also blatantly apparent. She would be a burden to their lifestyle. She was infatuated, that much was clear as well. She would be a continuous annoyance while she made cow-eyes at Stanton. She was dead inside; she would be another statistic in their _happy _home.

She shifted awkwardly from foot to foot anxiously awaiting his answer.

It would be so easy for him to slam the door in her face that very moment, turn her desperate, wet, self away and never have to deal with her again. He'd done it before, countless of times, it was his unofficial duty to reject Stanton's little experiments when they came knocking. Just lie, shut the door, and she would never know any better. She was weak, after all.

But she was also alone, and cold, and most likely hungry and it was the most pathetic thing he had seen for a while. He was teetering on the indecisive, wondering if it would be worth the effort, when her next words sent him over the edge.

"Please?" Came the whimper.

He sighed as he ran a hand through his bleached hair, "What was your name again?" He asked tonelessly.

"Cassandra." She seemed afraid when she spoke to him.

He stepped sideways and pressed his back against the wall, "Well, you might as well come in Cassandra, you look miserable." The double entendre of his words went unnoticed.

The tinniest of smiles flickered across her face and she stepped in, "What's your name?" She asked hesitantly.

"Tymmie," He muttered as he shut the door, and sent her a level look, "Welcome to casa de la Stanton." His voice lowered, "I hope you know what you're getting yourself into."

Her eyes glued to her shoes and she mumbled, "I had no where else to go."

"That's unfortunate."

"Yeah, it is."

And that was all that was spoken between the two before Tymmie wordlessly showed her the room she'd be occupying, which was once held by a girl named Yvonne, and left the house. Later that night, when Stanton returned and demanded why exactly Tymmie had let her stay when he was supposed to send those girls packing he simply replied,

"She was cold."


	3. To Watch or Observe Closely

**Note: **_Faust _is a play by Goethe that focuses on a character who sells his soul to the devil in order to achieve mystical powers. Suiting, no?

_Chapter Three_

_Follow (v): To watch or observe closely_

_Two weeks later._

"Stop." She growled, peeking over the cover of her paperback. Her arms were crossed in front of her chest in an effort to keep her fists from lashing out at the smug face seated on the couch in front of her.

"Stop what?" He asked casually.

"What you're doing." She bit out.

"What is it that I'm doing?" He replied, and she noticed the discrete tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Staring, it's annoying and you've been doing it for the past half hour," She stated coldly, her light gray-blue eyes narrowing in irritation.

"Oh," He said dispassionately, not removing the train of his gaze from the object he was focused on.

She began to shift uneasily in her seat, "Damnit cut it out!" She unexpectedly bellowed, chucking the book across the room, hoping to hit his fat head.

"No." Came the flat reply and easy dodge.

She sneered, "Bastard." She spat before she stood up abruptly and went to her room, where she promptly slammed the door shut.

Tymmie said nothing, but continued to stare at her retreating form, chuckling to himself when she opened the door again, her face livid and contorted, "What the hell is your problem!" She demanded.

"Cassandra, I'm simply observing," He commented off-handedly, "It's _you _who seems to be having the problem."

Her face then proceeded to turn the same shade as her hair, "Oh, just burn in hell." She said so unemotionally, a lesser person would not have thought she was serious. But Tymmie knew better.

"You get very tense, by such a simple action."

"Simple? You were _gawking _at me like I was some specimen in a _zoo._" Her hands were placed firmly on her hips and she kept up the death glare.

Tymmie leaned his head back and let out a barking laugh, "Darling, this is a zoo."

Cassandra was finding it increasingly difficult to stay mad at the man in front of her who was giggling like a five year old. Her fists clenched, and body stayed stock-still as she attempted to keep her rage that was fleeing away rapidly when Tymmie was still laughing at his own observation that wasn't funny at all a few minutes later. Her anger was replaced by irritation, and then finally, resignation.

She exhaled, _damn_.

"Who the hell says 'darling' anymore, anyways?" She opted for being the cynical bitch, instead of her previous raving bitch mode.

Tymmie smirked after his laughter had died down, knowing he had won this round and outsmarted her, "You're new, _dah-rling,_" Cassandra cringed at the elaborate pronunciation, "After a couple of months or so, you'll realize that old habits, including word choice, die hard with us Followers."

She blew a strand of way-ward maroon hair out of her eyes, "You're ridiculous." Was all she said flatly, turning on her heel and closing the partially rotting wooden door behind her as she retreated yet again to her room.

Tymmie rolled his eyes before he situated himself calmly on the couch, "Drama queen," He muttered, picking up the disregarded paperback that had been previously aimed for his head and began reading yet again.

A few moments later, from behind the closed rotting door, there was a crash and a stifled sob, which Tymmie ignored. After that, a pained and hoarse scream. But Tymmie ignored that too.

After all, Cassandra's copy of _Faust _was just beginning to get interesting.


	4. To Accompany

_Chapter Four_

_Disclaimer: Lyrics are from Dear Mr. Gable (You Made Me Love You) by Judy Garland. I am not using them for profit._

_Follow (v.): To accompany_

_Two Months Later _

She sat there anxiously; her fingers drumming along her crossed arms as her eyes quickly and repetitively scanned the crowd, desperately searching for her promised date, her infatuation, her everything. It was Saturday night at The Dungeon, and Stanton had promised that he would meet her there later. She had initially wanted to wait until he had returned home from whatever it was he was doing, but Tymmie and Karyl had both dragged her out to the club for some late-night celebration.

She didn't understand what there was to celebrate. It was so late at night it was turning early, and so far, Stanton had not appeared to fulfill his promise. The whole evening had been spent sulking in a corner somewhere, with a drink not alcoholic enough, while wondering just what in the hell she had done _wrong _to chase the blonde god away.

The music had been picking up, and she had watched the happy couples, or horny couples, enviously as they danced together. Bitter and jealous that they had gotten something she so far had not been allowed to be a part of. Her pale, long fingers clenched tighter around the plastic cup, but she could not tear her eyes away from them all, with their fake smiles, fake happiness, and more importantly, fake hope.

So absorbed was she with her analysis, that she didn't even notice he had sat down in the seat next to hers until she had felt an arm around her shoulder. "Don't touch me," Her response was automatic, and he was used to it, for both had accepted the fact that he was a physical contact person, while she was not.

He dropped his arm, not at all offended for he knew he was not the Follower she wanted, the one whose arm was okay to be around her shoulders, "You don't look like you're having much fun," He commented blithely.

"Good call," She mumbled sardonically.

"He a No-Show again?"

"Seems that way."

A pause, then, "I don't see why you wait around for someone who's not going to show up."

A huff, then, "I don't see why it matters to _you _who I wait around for."

There was silence for the longest time, as the pair of Followers watched the crowd, taking a few moments to be comfortable in each other's company. After a while, it happened, and it was by a mutual consent, rather than his intrusion, and they enjoyed the nonexistent silence together for a few hours.

Sometime during the watching, he put his arm around her shoulders, and she found herself too apathetic to care anymore.

The loud music began to fade, ceding to a slow number that he instantly recognized from when he was normal.

"Want to dance?" He asked, casually.

"Shut the hell up!" She growled, her voice lethally low.

He didn't understand why she was so angry with him, or the darkened look that had entered her eyes. It was just a simple question. "Cassandra, I only asked if you wanted to dance with me."

"And you ought to know why I wouldn't want to," She replied, lightening fast.

He then acquired a darkened look of his own, "Because you only want to dance with one person, is that it?"

"Yes! And we both know it isn't you!" She spat.

Tymmie stood up, knowing he wasn't going to take her misery any longer. With a considerable amount of force, his hand clamped around her wrist and he pulled her up from her seat, "We are going to have a goddamn dance and you are going to like it!"

"I don't want to dance with you!" She protested, even as she was being dragged out onto the floor.

"Too bad."

"Tymmie, you bastard!" She hissed as he put a hand between her shoulder blades and pressed his chest against hers. The hand that had been secured to her wrist moved up and interlaced her fingers with his, and that was how he began the most awkward dance in the history of the world.

They were…waltzing. In the middle of a club, surrounded by people who were grinding and dancing seductively.

"What the hell are you doing?" Her voice saccharinely poisoned as she whispered into his ear.

"This song, just happens to be one of my favorites, so shut up and stop ruining it," He replied, equally as smooth.

Cassandra gave a 'humph' of disdain, but nevertheless began following Tymmie's steps, matching them equally, "Why a waltz?" She asked suddenly.

"It's the only one that I'm really good at," He mumbled, going to the left, "Besides, my parents used to dance together to this song all the time when I was younger."

He thought he saw the barest trace of a smile on her face, but he ignored it, certain that it was a playing of the light.

The two settled into their roles, and somewhere along the lines it wasn't awkward anymore, but comfortable, almost unnaturally so. Cassandra took the opportunity to look at Tymmie, as he seemed to be concentrated on his feet. His square jaw, slightly long and skinny nose, the many facial piercings, and the ragged scare that he had across one eyebrow.

He wasn't Stanton, far from it.

He was ok though.

Cassandra was 'ok' with that.

And the music played on,

"_You made me love you  
I didn't want to do it, I didn't want to do it  
You made me love you  
and all the time you knew it  
I guess you always knew it.  
You made me happy sometimes, you made me glad  
But there were times, Dear, you made me feel so bad _

You made me sigh for, I didn't want to tell you  
I didn't want to tell you  
I want some love that's true, yes I do, deed I do, you know I do.

_You made me love you,_

_I didn't want to do it."_


	5. To Go or Come After

_Chapter Five_

_Follow (v.): To go or come after_

_Two years later._

It wasn't until Cassandra saw his back retreating, that she realized her entire life was living in a past tense. She _used _to be good, she _used _to be pure, she _used _to be in love…with Stanton. It wasn't until the false smile had dropped from his face, and the light chuckle he had always given her had vanished, that she realized she wasn't quite ready to give up on…on whatever this was.

"Don't go," She whispered pathetically, her arms wrapped around herself in a pathetic hug.

His footsteps halted, momentarily, "What?" He replied, as if he didn't believe her simple request.

The maroon-haired Follower hesitantly inched towards his retreating back, "Please don't go." Her voice was slightly louder, but still insecure.

He snorted, "And why not?"

Cassandra rocked back and forth on her feet slightly as she patiently awaited reason to hit her, "Because." She supplied lamely.

"Be…cause," Tymmie drawled out the word, mocking her. His voice fell, "Not good enough, Cassandra." He swerved on his heel, to face her, and gray eyes, like chips of granite, bored into hers, "Give me your real reason."

She teased her lower lip between her teeth, terrified to give him the real reason, afraid of rejection, "You'll be betraying the Atrox." She mumbled.

A snort, "An Outcast caring about the Atrox?" He scoffed, before turning around again, "If that's all you have to say, then I see no point to sticking around. Go back to your sick little puppy love with Stanton."

His words hit her like a slap in the face and she restrained the tears collecting in her eyes, "I…" She inhaled shakily, "I don't want to go back to Stanton."

Yet again, he faced her, a sneer twisting his features, "You wanted it enough to get that stupid tattoo," He muttered, his left thumb gently tracing the area over her hip, and Cassandra pathetically tried to quell the electric sensation that had occurred when he touched her, "And to give yourself that stupid scar," He continued, his right hand pressing against her chest.

They stood there, uncomfortably for a few moments, their breaths mingling but neither knowing what the next appropriate move was, and neither wanting to leave. For leaving would be the end.

"Why," Tymmie exhaled huskily at last, and she shivered from the warm breath on her face, "Should I stay here, Cassandra?"

She trembled. She knew what she wanted to say. She wanted to tell him that she had hated him at first, that the hate had grown into a rivalry, that the rivalry had grown into respect, respect into friendship, and friendship…into something else entirely.

"I'm waiting," He muttered.

Cassandra wanted him to kiss her then. She didn't want to kiss him, because that would mean rejection, so she paused for a second, expectantly. When nothing happened, she swallowed the lump in her throat and said the first thing on her mind, the worst thing she could have said, "Because you're not him."

The warmth that had filled her with being in his presence disappeared quickly as he started walking, a deadly and murderous intent hovering around him, "Come get me when you figure out what the hell it is you want, Cassandra." He bit out viciously, as he sauntered off to fulfill his end of Lambert the traitor's generous offer.

Cassandra, outcasted and alone, sunk to her knees as hot tears collected in the corner of her eyes and she watched him walk away. In the darkness, she wished she had the courage to follow after him as he disappeared from her life.

**AN: **I went kind of crazy on the writing tonight…One chapter left!

!nym!


	6. To Understand the Meaning Of

_Chapter Six _

_Follow (v.): To understand the meaning of_

_Two decades later_

He had been sitting not ten feet from her for about an hour now, and she had failed to look his way once. His fingers drummed along the bar's counter top as he mentally debated whether or not to get her attention. It had been twenty years, twenty years of absolutely no contact between the two. No phone calls, no letters or emails, no nothing. He exhaled slowly, and his eyes darted over towards her once again.

Her back was towards him, in a way it always had been, and she was sitting at a table with another man, fake laughing and falsely enjoying her somewhat dinner. From the brief side glances he had been allowed, she did not appear to have aged at all, still the same seventeen year old girl he remembered. From her youth, Tymmie had deducted that the rumors were true, that Cassandra had been accepted back into the Atrox's congregation. He hadn't believed it at first, as his information had been coming from a rather unreliable _Infidi_ spy, but now that it was in the flesh he found his breath catching as he saw her toss back her long, perfect, maroon hair over the bare shoulder of her backless black dress. The man across from her was obviously one of her latest toys, she always did enjoy tormenting the ones with money, the suit, tie, and constant blushing of the boy was a dead giveaway. He probably meant nothing to her, or at least Tymmie tried to convince himself of such.

Finding her here had been pure coincidence, truly it was. Tymmie wouldn't _actually_ keep tabs on someone for twenty years and then _actually_ track her down because he _missed _her. That would be ridiculous. He was Lambert Malmaris's main man, the best telepath the Atrox had to offer aside from Stanton, he didn't _need_ anyone.

He just…really _wanted _to see her again.

Tymmie silently ordered a shot from the bartender behind the counter, and downed it in milliseconds. And another, and another. By about his fifth one, he had no problem spilling out the deepest secrets of his faintly beating heart to the overweight and balding man who looked quite frankly uninterested. "See that girl over there," He said, slightly slurred, as he leaned forward, pointing over his shoulder with his thumb, "I think I love her."

The bartender raised a bushy brow and followed the strange young man's thumb, his eyes landing on a pretty girl with maroon hair. A pretty girl with maroon hair that was currently on a date. He looked back at the kid, "Want another shot?"

He nodded, "At least three more."

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

"You look great tonight," The boy across from her said for about the fifth time, "Did I say that already?" He commented awkwardly, tugging at the collar of his shirt.

_Five times you jackass,_ "I never get tired of hearing it," She said, falsely smiling and covering his clammy hand with her own.

The boy's uptight resolve faded a bit and he gave her an incredibly nervous smile of his own, "Do you like the necklace?" He tried again.

Cassandra fingered the diamond around her neck, "Yes, thanks."

The two sat in silence, one about to have an aneurysm due to the stress of sitting across from such an attractive girl, the other wishing she was anywhere but there as she began to drum her fingers across the table. The two were spared the increasing awkwardness when the waiter arrived with their food. The waiter gave Cassandra a discreet and flirtatious grin, but for once Cassandra didn't feel like returning the pass with a coy smirk of her own. She really just felt like going home tonight.

As the boy across from her began to chew vigorously on his steak, she took a moment to observe him and to try and figure out why she was even bothering with this kid. His hair was platinum blonde, looking almost bleached, he had a slightly long and skinny nose, his eyes were green, but there was the tinniest flicks of gray in them. She sighed, and began to take a sip of the expensive wine that the boy had paid for. She truly was disappointed that the boy's eyes weren't gray.

"Cassandra? Are you alright, you seemed distracted," The boy's voice came, interrupting her thoughts.

She jerked to attention, "Sorry, Tymmie-"

The boy's eyes narrowed, and he looked a bit crestfallen, "It's Tommy."

She flushed ten shades of red when she discovered her mistake, "I'm sorry, Tommy, I must really be out of it," Again another smile, and she gave him a little mental persuasion, hoping to dissolve the distrust that had accumulated.

"It's alright," A pause, "Would you like to come over after dinner?"

Cassandra inwardly rolled her eyes and automatically knew what this Tommy wanted from her, it was to be expected after all, the guy _had _just given her a D-flawless pendant. Thankfully, she wouldn't have to go through with anything, just a little mental nudge into unconsciousness and she could walk away scot-free, with his bank account number, "Sure, just let me-"

Her response was cut off as a loud crash reverberated throughout the restaurant. Cassandra wheeled around and her eyes widened in shock when she saw someone who looked incredibly familiar scrambling to climb back up on his barstool. "Tymmie?" She whispered, not quite believing.

"It's Tommy-" The boy behind her was ignored as Cassandra immediately bolted out of her seat and walked with as much dignity as possible over to the inebriated man.

Her eyes widened when she was close enough to fully observe him. His hair, in slight disarray from the fall, had grown out to its natural dark brown color. Most of his facial piercings were in, with a few new ones on his eyebrows, and he was still clad in his constant all black. When his cold, gray, eyes met with hers she felt her heart stop, and then ache when he gave her a drunken smile.

"Hey Cassie," He muttered, obviously out of it, and Cassandra knew it had to have been strong alcohol to keep an Immortal intoxicated for such a duration of time, "Long time no see…"

Cassandra just stood there for a moment, unsure of how to react at the situation of seeing Tymmie again after twenty years, when he leaned over, and put his arm around her shoulders like he always used to do. "Missed you," He whispered into her ear, his breath hot.

It was then, that Cassandra did the only thing that she could think of to do.

She spun around Tymmie's arm, and gave him a solid punch to the face.

When Tymmie's head rocked back, causing him to fall once more off of the barstool, Cassandra stood above him, a hand on her hip and her arms akimbo, "Do _not_ touch me," She said coolly, then as an afterthought, "And **_never_** call me Cassie."

Tymmie looked up at the fiery girl, and as a wave of nostalgia crashed over him, he gave a smile and muttered, "Of course not, _darling_." Before passing out.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

When Tymmie finally came to, he was surprised to find himself lying comfortably on an obviously plush leather sofa. Even more surprised to find an iced bag of stir-fry across his forehead. Slowly, he shifted his weight, groaning as the effects of his drinking and her punch faded with an immortal speed. His eyes widened when he remembered who had punched her, "Cass-"

"You comfortable?" Came the saucy voice he could admit he loved from across the room, where there sat Cassandra, a worn out paperback in her hands as she observed her companion from over the edge.

Tymmie smiled and fingered the cold bag of food that had fallen off of his forehead, "What's with the stir-fry?" He questioned.

Cassandra shrugged, pretending to flip a page and continue reading. Tymmie knew she was faking, as she had the book upside down in her hands, "You needed something cold to reduce the swelling, I needed my dinner thawed out. It was a win-win situation."

Tymmie felt the tinniest of frowns pulling at the corners of his mouth, "Weren't you having dinner with that asshole earlier?"

Cassandra seemed to be having the same problem with the urge to frown, "Almost, and it would have been a _nice _and _expensive_ dinner, but some bastard had to fall off of a stool and ruin it." She flipped another page, this time with much gusto, "So now I'm stuck eating the stir-fry I unthawed on said bastard's head."

Silence reigned, and Tymmie's gaze was locked on the girl in front of him. Same hair, same mouth, same lovely, long legs, but there was something off about her. It took a few minutes for him to realize that it was her eyes, they had been once sparkling with naivety and puppy love, but now they appeared weathered and matured. Tymmie wasn't quite sure which one he favored yet.

"Stop it," Cassandra muttered, her voice mumbled.

"Stop what?" Tymmie teased, enjoying this game.

"What you're doing."

"And what is it I'm doing?"

"Staring, it's annoying and I'm trying to read damn it." She retorted.

Tymmie's trademark smirk spread across his features, for once reaching his eyes, "Cassandra, your book is upside down."

Her response to this, as it almost always was when she had a book in her hands, was to chuck it at his head. However, Tymmie this time was not able to duck it and it hit him on the nose, right where Cassandra had punched him earlier. He hissed, and his hand shot up to soothe the throbbing, "You can be a real bitch," He muttered.

Her eyes narrowed, but instead of the angry retort he had been expecting, there was a soft and hesitant question, "Why were you there?"

"Where?" Tymmie asked, faux innocence dripping from his tone.

"Don't play cute-"

"So you think I'm cute?"

"You know where!"

Tymmie sighed, and slumped back against the couch, before countering her question with another question, "Why did you bring me back to your place?"

"Because I punched you, answer my question." Her words were as direct and blunt as they had ever been and he let out a laugh, at the look of her frosty gaze the mirth died in his throat to be replaced with something Tymmie hadn't experienced in a long time, embarrassment.

"I…heard a rumor." Tymmie began.

"A rumor." Cassandra repeated, obviously not amused.

"I heard you had rejoined the Atrox, and I was curious," Tymmie continued, hoping she wouldn't see through the lie.

"That happened seventeen years ago, Tymmie, try again."

Damn.

"I've…been busy."

"With _Infidi? _Bullshit."

"Why do I need a motive to come and see you?" Tymmie argued back, beginning to get angry.

"Maybe because it's been TWENTY years!" She hollered back standing up, her fists clenching, "And the last time I _did _see you, you left me to join Lambert!"

Tymmie snorted, "_I _left _you_?" His eyes narrowed, "Cassandra, you didn't even see me to begin with!"

"What the hell are you talking about!" Her face had flushed with red, as had his, he was sure.

"I wasn't Stanton," The name sounded like a curse, "And guess what Cassandra, I'm still not!"

At his name, the name of the once center of her universe, Cassandra recoiled like she had been slapped. Tears began to brim in her eyes as she struggled to balance both the infinite regret and the wrathful emotions that were tearing her up inside, "I didn't want you to be Stanton," She whispered, the solemn side of her defeating the anger as she wrapped her arms around herself, looking vulnerable and scared. A humorless chuckle escaped her lips, "And guess what, Tymmie, I still don't."

His granite eyes widened slightly, but he was still fearful to take the plunge, "What do you mean by that?"

She shrugged, absently, and turned away from him, "Never mind, just go back home Tymmie."

His arm grabbed her bicep a little more forcibly than he had intended, but she didn't make a sound of protest, "Don't ignore me Cassandra."

A sigh, followed by, "Why did you leave?"

Tymmie's eyebrows knit together, "I had to."

"That doesn't answer anything."

He cleared his throat and shifted, "Because, I hated him."

A pause.

"…And, I hated the way you looked at him."

Silence reigned as Cassandra absently mulled this over, before nodding in agreement, "I hated the way he looked at her. That's why I was Outcasted," She admitted, more to herself than to him. She turned towards him, confusion in her weathered eyes, that Tymmie now decided he liked more than her naivety, "But after a while, I stopped caring that he looked at her…" Her voice trailed off and Tymmie felt his throat tighten, "Because I started looking at you."

Then there was quiet, the only sound in the unlit apartment a pair of frantically beating hearts, "What is this?" Tymmie finally croaked out, his forehead leaning down to rest on hers.

She closed her eyes in contemplation, "I don't know."

A finger found its way to underneath her chin, and Tymmie lifted her face up, so their eyes made contact, "I missed you," He stated, the closest thing to a confession either of them would make.

She licked her lips nervously, and Tymmie's eyes followed the action, "Good." She muttered, before she grabbed his collar and pulled his face down those few inches, so their lips made contact.

In that moment, he understood.

And in that moment, she stopped her following, as the only person she wanted to catch up with was now standing right next to her.

-**Finis**.

Yes, it's an open ending, I had intended it to be that way, as most relationships don't have a clear-cut ending and beginning. My thanks to all the readers, especially **LovelyPriestess!**

!nym!


End file.
